


Hearing is to Listen to the Heart

by Joysplosion



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Everyone Is Magic, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joysplosion/pseuds/Joysplosion
Summary: His hearing was more sensitive than most. This was something he hadn’t realized until he began to shut his eyes off from the world.And then the music played. It touched his broken soul in a way he never thought would be so gentle. He knew he couldn't make others understand the feeling received when the delicate notes fluttered onto his ears, as soft as snowflakes yet as paralyzing as the venom of a snake.It still bothered him that the others haven't tapped into their talents as he had. He knew that other people had a different way about using their gifts, but it still felt as if they hadn't completely unlocked the gate blocking them from their potential.David was determined to help each of them find their key.After all, he found his when it was too late.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Hearing is to Listen to the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic will include not only headcannons of mine, but some experiences of mine as well. I hope you enjoy.

It had been a normal day at school, for the most part.

Most of the kids ignored him, and the teachers respectfully gave him their papers. He bit down a bark when the more troublesome classmates of his began to get annoying. Even though the temptation was strong, like a whirlpool tugging in the remains of a ship, he refused to speak out of fear for being in the spotlight. He hated being in the spotlight. It was because people would just stare.  
He knew, logically, that the stares were harmless, though he couldn't shake the feeling of their calculating looks. They were judging him. Although there were lessons (not to judge a book by its cover and all that), David knew that it was illogical to try and stop the instinct to evaluate. That was partly why he hated the staring so much, kids didn't have enough self control to not judge. As an extension of judging, speaking their mind. So David opted to stay quiet.

He wasn't a bad kid or anything. If you asked the teachers, they would all reply that he was one of the brightest, most well behaved children in the entire grade. His heart swelled with pride when he realized that they were complimenting him. David didn't usually get compliments, one of the downsides to being quiet. It was difficult to try and achieve friends when you were quiet. Although it should seem like a concern to him, David felt oddly at peace when he realized that there would be no one to bother him when he was doing his work. He was swift at it, too. Having no friends meant time to study, time to pay more attention in school. Unlike himself, the other kids collected together, a murder of crows sailing along the gentle breeze. Though, David couldn't deny that it felt lonely to be a quiet canary, struggling against the harsh wind of the hurricane.  
He sighed heavily against his hand, looking down at the careful etches he had made on paper. It was finished. The redhead always surprised himself with how quickly he could get something done if he put his mind to it. He continued to sit in his desk, looking around at the rest of the classroom. The other kids were talking to each other about the newest trends, including the newest installment of the 'Awe' comics. (The comics were of superheroes. That was something David knew for sure, but if he heard someone fawn over Arachnid-Boy again he would throw himself out the window.) He looked down at his desk again, bringing his hands into sight. He stretched his writing-crucial appendages before sighing at the lonely, only slightly eerie vibe his desk gave off. 

David wouldn't have to wait for long before the less-than-welcome atmosphere dissipated, his teacher returned to the classroom. The students scattered like frightened rats at the sound of the teacher snapping her ruler against the blackboard, David staring in awe as the fifth measurement tool this week split in half. (It was Tuesday, and David couldn't help but wonder why she continued to break perfectly good educational equipment despite having a seemingly endless supply of rulers.) The students quickly sat up straight, not unlike militant soldiers awaiting their next command in battle. The redhead caught himself in the same position as his classmates, wondering when he began to do that.

It had become a routine. A repetitive, uninteresting, soul-crushing routine. David wouldn't realize it until later, but he yearned for something much bigger deep down in his soul. Whether it was attention from his peers or making a name for himself out in this giant world, he had no idea. But he was waiting for the world to call his name. He would take anything but be here in this boring classroom, surrounded by his inattentive classmates. He wanted to do it all. Hiking, rhyming, juggling, joking... hell, even firefighting seemed better than the life he was sitting in at that moment. He would do anything to be that knight in shining armor, waiting to save the prince-

"David?" He was snapped out of his thought process, quickly blinking before looking up at the teacher. "Are you alright?" Her eyes, though sharpened with the wartime of being a teacher, held a certain kindness to it that he thought only his mother could provide. The redhead reddened a little out of embarrassment, nodding quickly to defuse the situation. His classmates around him, all taking the situation as an opportunity, chuckled at the brief display of weakness that David had shown.

"Man, he's so quiet. If the teacher weren't here, I would think he didn't even exist."  
"I know, right?"  
"It's kinda hard not to notice him with those green eyes of his."  
"Yeah, but... didn't they look kinda dull to you just now?"  
"Good point. Seems like, when he's in a state like that, he kinda just... dies."

David blinked. He realized his classmates were right. His dissatisfaction of the world showed in his eyes when he was deep in thought. That was why the teacher called on him. That put him in the spotlight. He was going to have to fix that, there was no point bringing up his mental condition when everything was (not) clearly okay.  
What would be the best way to convince others that nothing was wrong? David knew that he was okay, sure, but he realized that he would have to hide the piece of him that set the alarms off in other people's heads if he were to keep his reputation as the silent boy. The boy that was never there. It's easier not to have eyes on you when you were practically invisible to the crowd. It's even easier to draw attention away from you if you scare them. Maybe if he made a mask, that protected him and drew attention away from him at the same time, would help him feel more comfortable.

Having decided on his goal, he was the last to hand in his homework, despite being the first to finish it. 

\-----------------------------------------------

David's walk home was always quaint.  
He would admire the birds staring inquisitively at him from in the trees, and upon noticing their curious gazes, he waved. He would listen to the sounds the crickets made in tandem with the singing of the feathered friends of flight. If you asked his classmates what they heard in them, they would reply with a simple "Eh, it's morning, you get used to it."  
David was most certainly not one of these people. It was like a symphony in his head that he set a rhythm to each day. He was the director, the crickets were the strings, and the birds were the wind instruments. The constant tap-ta-tap-tapping of his sent the world into a melodic chorus. The redhead basked in every second of it, imagining eyes staring at not him, but the musicians in front of him. Sure, some people would be staring at him, but he wasn't exactly the one in the spotlight. His orchestra was. And David was damn proud of his orchestra. 

As his song would end, he would grow hot with embarrassment as people would clap for not just his orchestra, but him, for being a good director and an even better leader. He sighed out in glee of the little imagery of his mind, noticing that the crickets and the birds started a different song without him. That was fine, they were their own separate entities, and he was his. Awakened from his imagination, he took in his surroundings. He was about a five minute walk away from the house. Nodding to himself, he decided to grab himself a snack from one of the stores coming up. He was usually pretty quick to get to his house, so it never hurt to take a little longer every once in a while.  
He turned the corner, viewing at the end of the road only the best candy store known on this side of Sleepy Peak; Sugary Susan's. 

Susan's was the type of candy store to go to just chill out. It wasn't well known, which explained the lack of children running around on a sugar rush, but it was well known enough that teenagers went there on dates. The atmosphere was kind and mellow, as if it were a perfectly warm cup of hot chocolate. The scent of the shop wasn't too overbearing, like that of a bakery, but it smelt of faint cinnamon and butterscotch.  
Some would say the shop smelt only of cinnamon, and others only butterscotch. David assumed it was an either/or type of thing, like how caramel tasted saltier to some and sweeter to others. For David, he smelt both the cinnamon and butterscotch. It was a good thing too, as he was partial to either of them.  
The chairs were soft and velvety, a calm yellow color- the type of yellow that made you think of a baby's blanket -and the tables held a pastel purple that complimented the yellow nicely. The first time David entered the premises, he silently judged the color scheme that went into the furniture, but found that it grew on him over time. The windows were laced with delicate flowers- gladiolas, if David had remembered correctly. The entrance itself was a marvel to gaze upon. The welcome mat, although friendly in a pastel palette, said something along the lines of 'Drop your issues at the door, we aren't payed enough to deal with them here.' That was a saying that the redhead could respect. He had seen so many retail workers being yelled at for reasons out of their control, each time no more pleasant than the last. He was just glad somebody was addressing the issue that the workers were indeed human. 

"Hello, dear David," commented a charmingly chubby lady behind the counter. That was Susan herself, and she was the owner of the premises. Her hair, although it had grayed, was styled into a Japanese-style bun. Her attire also fit the theme of her hair, a welcoming yukata with the design of soft pansies snaking up the dress itself. The lady was polite, and her neighbors would always fuss over her kind nature. ("You'll die from worry at a young age," warned the neighbor across the street. Ironically, the neighbor had died before they could see that happen. Susan, of course, attended the funeral.) Despite her looks, she was far from being old. In her thirties, at most, but that didn't stop anyone from calling the poor lady ancient.  
Susan, of course, was one of the reasons David was so interested in the world outside of his hometown. She wore different attire from different cultures on alternating days. Each and every piece was unique, and David caught himself staring at the gorgeous outfits each and every time he had come. The redhead was kindly taught by Susan how to style hair in traditional ways all around the world. (Not that the girls in the class know, they'd give him hell for him to do their hair. He didn't have anybody to turn to other than his classmates to put these skills to use. As a solution, he had a mannequin's head that he styled each and every day to hone his abilities. Today, it was styled in a gorgeous braid laden with fake flowers he found around the house.) The shop itself mirrored Susan's interest in culture, different objects from different worlds scattered around the shop in a way that tied everything together.  
The candy? Not much of it was from other cultures, it simply wasn't sweet enough or too spicy. So, Susan opted for traditional American candies and treats.

"Hello, Susan." He had come here enough times after school that it became habit to just call her by her name, no formalities required. The same had been for Susan, who had previously called him Young David. "May I have the usual?"  
The wise, old lady nodded. It was a bit of a routine in this cafe, too, but it was charming. Charming enough that it didn't get old. Coming to the candy shop had become a bit of a welcome experience in his weekly life. It counted as a temporary quench for his thirst of adventure. Now, the usual was a snicker-doodle cookie, iced with butterscotch dip. It was David's favorite. He handed over the money needed to pay for the treat, but Susan shook her head.  
"Now, now, darling. You don't need to pay for it."  
David tilted his head. "But... why?"  
Susan softly smiled, patting him gently on the head. "You've become a bit of a son to me. No other customer except you has made such a difference in my life." Before he could ask what she meant, she gently pushed the small treat in his hands towards him. "You no longer need to pay me, your cute little face is payment enough." She playfully squished his cheeks, at which David giggled in return.  
"Thank you, Susan."

He took a bite of the biscuit, waved cheerfully at her on the way out, and continued the rest of the five minute walk home.

But it felt... wrong. Not the kind of wrong that you feel when you forget something somewhere. Not the kind of wrong you feel when you did something bad. But the kind of wrong that felt off in what should totally be a normal day-to-day schedule.

The feeling grew in his gut (thankfully not quelling the appetite for his delicious treat) as he got closer to the house. As he got closer, he could smell something... strong. As if it were a backyard bonfire, but adjusted to a heat that David couldn't comprehend. The small redhead took a shaky breath in, swallowing the last of his cinnascotch treat. 

He rounded the corner. There it was, the home he had been living in for his entire life. Gently laced with memories of love for his family, memories of learning how to speak, memories of learning how to walk. The secure feeling of laying in his parent's arms as his mother sung him a bedtime story.

All of it, burning before his eyes.  
He didn't register the fact his knees scraped on the cement. He didn't register the comforting hugs the neighbors gave him.

He could only hear the screams of his parents, and he could only see the vengeful flame that swallowed all he held dear.

...He would be forming a mask sooner than he thought he would be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, so please be patient with the way I use my wording.  
> I hidden a couple references. 'Awe' and 'Arachnid-Boy' were obviously Marvel and Spider-man.  
> The butterscotch and cinnamon thing had been a reference to Undertale.  
> Susan herself is not a reference, nor is she a character of mine. However, she'll still be important in the story.
> 
> At first, I will be writing about David and his childhood, and how he got to the point in life we all see on screen now. I will be adding some of my headcannons to it, of course, but I hope what I have written will suffice for now.  
> Thank you for being patient with me.


End file.
